


The Hotel Where Carl Powers Died

by fairyScorpicus



Series: BBC Sherlock Dreams [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Based Off of a Dream, teen!lock, unrealistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:06:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyScorpicus/pseuds/fairyScorpicus
Summary: Based off of a dream.John and Sherlock go to a hotel to have a good time, except...Moriarty is there.





	The Hotel Where Carl Powers Died

John and Sherlock walk into the hotel, dragging their luggage behind them. The hotel was large, open, and a sort of golden color. Along the side were a bunch of shelves with empty slots. They walk up to the receptionist, a nice little lady whose name tag read, "Mrs. Hudson".

"Why hello there! Welcome to the London Hotel. Did you make a reservation?" she asked.

Sherlock huffed. "Of course we did. It's under the name Mycroft Holmes." he handed over a credit card. John watched in a mixture of dismay and surprise. Mrs. Hudson didn't notice. She looked something up on the computer, then smiled.

"Ah yes. You're a little early, so we're finishing up cleaning your room. Please place your luggage over there," she pointed at the shelves, "and we'll move it up to your room when it's ready. Here are your keys." She handed Sherlock the keys and the card back. John waited until after they placed the bags down and they were far enough away from Mrs. Hudson before turning on Sherlock.

"Why did you use Mycroft's credit card?" he hissed. Sherlock shrugged.

"It's not like he'll miss it, and if he does it doesn't matter, because, with his new job in the British government he's making quite a bit of money, you can tell because lately he's been wearing several new suits, all of which are quite fancy and expensive, and also he's my brother so I doubt he'll mind. Now, will you please stop worrying John and explore the hotel with me?"

John looked at him for a moment before sighing. "Alright, Sherlock."

While exploring the hotel, they met up with Lestrade and Molly.

"Greg! Molly! What a lovely surprise!" John said, smiling. Sherlock frowned.

"What are you doing here, Gavin?" He said, irritated.

The 18-year-old boy with the pale brown hair glanced at Sherlock in equal irritation. "My name is Greg," he complained. "I can't believe that we've known each other for 6 years and you still forget it."

Molly smiled, the seventeen-year-old girl's cheeks blushed slightly as she looked at Sherlock. "Hello, Sherlock. Hey, John. Greg and I were looking for you guys, and we heard from Mycroft that you guys reserved a room here at the hotel. There's been a murder nearby and Greg was wondering if you could look into it?"

"Boring. besides, I'm here to hang out with John." Sherlock said, glaring slightly.

"Are you  _sure_  your brother doesn't notice?" John muttered under his breath with sass, knowing full well that Sherlock would hear it. Sherlock shot him a snarky look.

"No," Sherlock replied firmly to Molly and Greg.

"Come on, Sherlock," said John. "We'll barely look at it."

"It's probably not even a four,' Sherlock complained, but he smiled and let them drag him along. When they returned from the crime scene, Mrs. Hudson alerted them that their bags had been stolen. They rushed over to where they left the bags. There was a piece of paper folded on the ground.

"Is it a murder?" Mrs. Hudson said.

(Author's Note: I don't know why she said that in my dream it doesn't make sense yes I know)

"No," Sherlock said.

John leaned forward to look properly at the piece of paper. He picked it up. Greg and Molly found out their bags were stolen as well and walked over as John unfolded it. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder in interest.

"Come and find me, you know who I am. The Pool, midnight." The paper said.

"MORIARTY!!!" John screamed as loud as he could in anger. It must have been Moriarty. Everyone turned and ran towards the pool in the hotel. It was not midnight, but Moriarty and some other teenage thugs were already there.

"Hello~" Moriarty started to say, but John screamed in anger again and shaped a gun with his hands. He pointed his finger gun at Moriarty.

"BANG BANG!" He shouted, pretending to shoot a gun. Moriarty screeched. Everyone began to fake shoot each other. Except for Sherlock.

"Is that a gun or are you just pleased to see me?" Moriarty shouted.

"Both," said Sherlock, making his own finger gun and pretending to shoot Moriarty. Everyone was screaming and shooting.

John stepped back after approximately twenty minutes of fake shooting. He sighed. Even though people were pretending to have been shot, no one was dying or getting injured. There was something wrong about this, something surreal, but John couldn't put his finger on it. He turned, and spotted, much to his delight, a container of cookies. They were chocolate chip cookies. He stepped away from the seventeen-year-olds fighting and grabbed one. The chocolate flavor seeped onto his tongue as he bit one. He groaned in delight. Molly also stepped away from the shooting, and she looked at John in disbelief.

"You're eating a cookie in the middle of a gunfight?!" she exclaimed. She sounded shocked and disapproving. John huffed to himself and finished the cookie before speaking.

"Look at them." he pointed to the screaming teenagers. "They're acting all silly. Cookies are more important."

The fight stopped immediately. Sherlock turned to John.

"More important than me?" he asked worriedly.

"Of course not," John assured. Sherlock smiled, convinced, and turned back to the fighting, but Moriarty started to talk.

"I'm bored now," he complained. "Your bags are in your room. Leave me alone now, I'm going to go sulk." He turned and walked away, followed by his teenage thugs. There was a brief moment of silence.

"Well," started Greg, surprised, but Sherlock interrupted him.

"John," he said, "Can you go check and see if our bags are really there?"

John nodded. "Of course, Sherlock." he turned away and headed to an elevator. He stepped inside and the elevator began to rise.

 _Huh,_ he thought.  _The elevator has no wall. I could just fall off._

Then he was shoved from behind. With a startled cry, he began to fall forward off the elevator towards the ground, which was so very far far away when he was grabbed by the ankles.

He dangled there by his ankles, in shock.

"Hello again, Johnny boy~" snarked Moriarty, who was who grabbed him by the ankles. "What a predicament we're in."

"SHERLOCK!" John screamed his best friend's name, hoping for a reply. "SHERLOCK!!!"

His friend rushed over, confused, then stopped at the sight of Moriarty holding John off the elevator by his ankles.

"Hello Sherlock," said Moriarty, as if this was perfectly normal and holding John had no effect on him.

"Moriarty," Sherlock replied. "We just finished fighting and you want to pick another one?"

"No," said Moriarty. "I'm ending the fight. Finger guns were hilarious, but now there will be real blood, a real feud between us!" He dropped John and he fell, shouting in fear.

"Don't worry John!" shouted Sherlock, directly underneath his falling body. "I'll catch you!"

John crashed on top of Sherlock and they were both sent to the floor, the air knocked out of them. As they lay there, wheezing, Mycroft walked over from seemingly nowhere.

"Hello, brother dear," he said to Sherlock, and Sherlock glared at him, still wheezing.

"This is all your fault," snarled Sherlock, but John wasn't paying attention anymore. He had just realized that he didn't feel out of breath at all. He wasn't wheezing, he was just laying there.

"Sherlock," he started to say but

then he

woke up.

"Oh, what even?" he muttered to himself.


End file.
